Small and smaller circles
by spacemonkey13
Summary: The Bureau gets involved in a case that has the media talking. Booth joins the task force and leaves Brennan and her team behind, as their expertise is not needed at the time. Then Booth disappears, only to be found four days later. But at what price?


Author's Note: It's been close to two years and this idea still wouldn't let me go. I tried to keep it all inside my head like the rest of my stories and hoped the urge to put it down in writing would go away. After all, I haven't even finished the last unplanned multi-chapter I've got and yet, here I am pursuing what could definitely NOT stay as a one-shot.

Thing is, this is the first time I would dare cross the line and try to mimic putting life into characters I've admired for so long. Not to mention that this is the first time I would dare cross their world unto another.

However, if you would all humor me for the time being, then perhaps you would allow me to give this story a shot.

Here it is.

* * *

**Small and smaller circles**

**Chapter I**

The waiting room is spotless.

Sterile.

Quiet.

She hates it.

Brennan feels like she's been waiting forever and a little bit more. Of course, she knows that such a thing is entirely illogical. However, waiting for news on how her partner is faring is definitely beginning to take its toll on her.

The last time she had waited for news in a hospital waiting room, the outcome had almost been her undoing. Granted, her partner turned out to be "undead," but the memory of how she spent those two weeks in a stupor, with an unshakeable haze that almost consumed her, is something she never wants to revisit.

She glances to her left and notes the other people seated. There are strangers, family members and friends waiting for news on someone else. No one she knows.

Therein lays the difference from the last time she was here. At least then, she had Angela, Jack, Cam, Zach and even Sweets waiting with her.

Zack.

How she misses him. Admittedly, there's still that twinge of pain whenever she remembers her former assistant. Brilliant, utterly brilliant and someone whose intellect she had no doubt could have surpassed her own had he been given enough time. Alas, such was not the case as here she is without him.

She looks down at her hands and notes the lack of blood. That last time, his blood had been all over her. She recalls how she couldn't seem to get the red out of her hands at all. And yet, the feelings are all that remains the same.

She's as terrified as the night Booth took a bullet for her.

She's as hurt as the night Booth's doctor told her the news.

But tonight, she's more hopeful than ever.

Because after four days of nightmares, four days of working non-stop, four days of trying to find the right answers, Special Agent Seeley Booth was found.

Granted, he was a lot worse than wear but knowing he is as much a fighter as she, if not even more so, he would make it. He would live.

The only question is, at what price.

X X X X X

The sound of the front door opening and then slamming shut wakes the woman dozing on the couch. She could barely open her eyes but is able to mutter something loud enough along the lines of "How was your day?"

She snuggles even deeper into the cushions, torn between the call of dreams and rest and the call of her husband.

Husband. A small smile graces her lips as she tests the word on her tongue.

Even after having known the man for more than fifteen years, been in love with him for the better half of that time and married to him for almost a month…

"Hey. Sleep well?" A hand lovingly caresses the top of her head and she feels a kiss press upon where his fingers just stroked.

She murmurs happily, "Yeah. You?"

The sound of chuckling gives her the right amount of incentive to turn around and peer up at his eyes.

"I'm not the one pregnant now, am I?"

She smirks, "No. You're not. Otherwise that would just about solidify who wears the pants in this relationship." He mocks a disgruntled and hurt look, "Ouch, woman."

A giggle bursts forth from her lips and she tugs him down to her level, presses her lips against his, "It's okay. I still love you anyway."

He rolls his eyes, "That's very thoughtful of you."

He pushes himself up and squeezes her hand briefly with his and walks toward the kitchen. "Do you want anything in particular for dinner?" His voice is slightly muffled as he turns the corner.

She stretches languidly on her couch and notes how her belly just about blocks her view of her feet. She scrunches up her nose and replies, "Something that would not make it too hard to lose all the weight I've gained in the course of this pregnancy." She huffs, craning her neck to peer at her wiggling toes.

Damn, she couldn't really see much of 'em anymore.

"Damn."

"What? What's wrong?" She hears jars and the likes clanging against each other as her sweet but sometimes frustrating love-of-her-life struggled to search for something—and in vain too, apparently.

"We're out of milk." He huffs, walking back to appear at her line of sight, leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed.

"I gathered as much from the amount of racket you were making with the fridge."

He sighs and walks toward the door, "Okay. I'll be back soon with the milk. Any other requests?" He grabs his coat, wallet and keys, reaches for the door knob and then smacks his forehead.

"Crap." He walks back to the couch, bends down and kisses her deeply, once, twice…

"Almost forgot." He whispers with a soft smile.

"Sure you did." She laughs lightly and pushes him away.

"Now hurry up. I'm hungry and I don't know what sight will greet you if you keep me waiting far too long."

"Fine. Love you."

"I know. I love me too."

"That's a pack less of twinkies for you, missy."

"Right. Love you too." She grins and gives a small wave. She could feel him grinning in return as he steps outside.

The door swings shut and silence greets her once more. She sighs, thinking it would be great if she didn't feel so tired lately. Every day seems like all she wants to do is sleep, eat, and then sleep some more… Ugh, might this be what a bum feels like?

Sleep. She'll sleep until her husband gets back. Then she'll make sure to at least get some movement out of her limbs for today. A lazy smile teases her lips as she mulls over the kind of activity that would surely drive him to 'help' her so to speak with no questions asked.

A certain kind of darkness greets her with open arms as thoughts of her love and the life they are looking forward to flit in and out of her mind.

Twenty minutes later, her husband comes home to an empty apartment. Only a necklace that she never went anywhere without was left lying on the floor near the couch. The sight of it brought his world to a standstill…and him to his knees.

X X X X X

Four women and three men had gone missing over the course of seven months, one victim per month within DC and its surrounding areas, Maryland and Virginia. No concrete pattern could be discerned by the FBI's profilers over what could possibly link the victims together. Each victim disappeared, only to turn up dead two weeks later; a bloody mess with an open chest cavity remained. They were obviously tortured before they were killed.

By the fifth victim, the media was all over the case. It seemed everyone wanted a piece of the story and everyone was outraged and confused over what was going on. The attention worsened when the last two victims were claimed.

In the course of the investigation, especially in light of the hype the case was getting from the press and the higher ups, Booth was dragged off of lunch with his partner; almost as soon as he stepped into the Hoover building, he was very much a part of the task force assigned to what was oh so creatively dubbed the "Hackings."

Due to the lack of bones that needed identifying, Brennan found herself and the rest of the Jeffersonian team taking a bit of the backseat, and without their FBI liaison. Though quite satisfied with being able to catch up with her REAL job in the institute—not to mention going through the backlog of paperwork courtesy of one case or another with the bureau—the anthropologist had to admit that she missed her partner.

The first few days weren't too bad. She had a lot of work to keep her busy after all. Angela kept grunting and groaning about "_I don't wish ill on anyone really, but damn, at least a murder investigation is better than recreating some poor old soul's burial site!_" Brennan of course berated her best friend for it, yet even a small part of her had to concede that she missed the thrill and closure her field status with Booth provided.

True, she still firmly believed in providing help and closure to those left behind by all the cases in limbo she sought to identify and 'bring home', so to speak, to their respective families. However, Brennan felt that there is something more with 'preventing' having to identify another set of remains, which is what her work with Booth set to achieve.

A week had passed before she allowed herself to realize what exactly she had missed.

First of all, no one hollered "Bones" seemingly at the top of their lungs upon entry into the lab.

No one called her "Bones," period.

Late into the night whenever her stomach would grumble in complaint, she would realize that she skipped lunch.

As well as breakfast, and probably had her fair share of coffee and coffee alone as sole sustenance.

No car rides with Booth 'kidnapping' her from the lab one way or another.

No more trips to the diner.

She tried to eat there once, but the sudden memory of sitting at 'their' table—alone—a few short months ago froze her mid-step. She almost tripped over herself in her hurry to leave. The memories of how it felt like to live life without him were too much then and there.

Upon her return, Angela seemed to have interpreted the look in her eyes correctly as the forensic artist laid a hand on her shoulder and said, "_He'll be back soon, sweetie. You know how this case seems to have swallowed the federal building and its people whole._"

And that was what prompted her to note that it had been a week and three days since she saw him last. On that cue, however, came along Booth.

"_Hey Bones." A tired voice greeted her from her office entrance._

_She whirled around in surprise to see him with his hands stuck in his pockets, the _Cocky_ belt buckle in place and his pink pig-filled tie askew. She took a split second to note how haggard he looked, his normally gelled hair sticking up, his sleeves haphazardly rolled up to his forearms and his posture…Brennan noted that his shoulders were slumped. _

"_Booth."_

_They stared at each other for some time before a small smile from him propelled her forward, flinging her arms around his neck._

_He chuckled, "I missed you too, Bones."_

_She squeezed him tighter one last time before she pulled away._

"_What are you doing here?"_

"_I haven't had lunch yet. I was hoping you'd join me." He smiled his charm smile at her. And despite the fact that it worked—though she'd be loathed to admit it to him lest his ego explode—she noticed that the smile barely reached his eyes._

"_You haven't had lunch yet, right?" He frowned as she failed to reply straight away._

_She shook her head._

_He rolled his eyes, "God, Bones. What are you going to do without me, eh? Let's go. You have been eating this past week on time, right?" He flung an arm around her shoulders and began to propel her out of her office and straight towards the exit._

_During that time, she was too absorbed in drinking in the sight of her unexpected yet not unwelcome partner to fully understand his ramblings._

"…_I think you've lost some weight…food at the office is horrible…pie…God, I miss pie…have you been sleeping? Because I swear, Bones…"_

_Brennan's face held a smile that was solely for him, albeit Booth himself was too absorbed in distracting his partner long enough to at least feed her with the smallest of contradictions, such as needing to get back to work._

_Both were too caught up in each other to notice that Angela watched them with a knowing smile, her phone in hand. She knew calling Booth was the right thing to do._

Not too soon afterwards, it became routine for them to have lunch together whenever their schedules would permit them to. It allowed them to touch base with each other and discreetly reassure themselves of the other's presence. Booth made it a point to call Brennan to remind her about lunch.

Not even a week after that, the FBI sent a new agent to fill in for Booth's absence.

Temperance was not pleased to say the least, granted that she all but turned her back on the agent who held out his hand in greeting.

She marched into her office and was on the phone with Cullen about this sudden new arrangement. Angela would swear the whole lab heard her best friend's side of the argument during that phone call.

After hearing about his "stubborn partner" telling off a deputy director of the FBI, Booth began to more than just bug Brennan about eating with or without him and encouraged her to try working with the new guy.

He also made a point of sending her either a message or two at night about going home early enough. Sometimes, he would even call her up and as soon as she answered, "_It's 9pm, Bones! Get a life!_" would blare from the receiver, or something along those lines would actually bring a smile to her lips.

Of course she would tell him off for trying to order her around and the amount of bickering would eventually have her packing her things up and actually leaving for home.

It was after noting that almost a month had passed since they had worked a case together that Brennan acquired another realization.

_This could be permanent_.

X X X X X

Brennan glances at her watch once more and notes the time. Almost an hour had passed since she last bothered the nurses. What was taking them so long?

A sudden thought strikes her and anger finds Brennan clenching her fists. If anyone tries to take him away again, FBI or not, official business like the last time they had him play dead…or not…The anthropologist found her hand itching to pull out her gun. Was this how Booth felt like when he unerringly shot the clown? If it is, she can now say she sympathizes with him.

Approaching footsteps jolt her out of her own thoughts and a figure dressed in surgical scrubs with blood spatters all over begins walking toward the waiting area. Out of the corner of her eye, the rest of the room's occupants sit up straighter in their seats, some holding tightly onto their companion's hands. Brennan absently notes how she couldn't do the same. Almost as soon as the thought strikes her, however, she berates herself for such weakness. She could handle this. She needs to be strong for this, for Booth.

The amount of tension that greets the doctor's presence is palpable.

A surgical cap still in place, mask hanging off of her neck, a certain amount of grace and purpose in her steps, a stoic demeanor yet somber-filled blue eyes, the surgeon heads toward Brennan.

The rest of the people nearby notices as much, and a collective sound of relief and nervousness that was breathed out were obvious. There was relief at the delay in what could be bad news, and nervousness at the sign of returning to as they were, waiting.

Brennan is almost stiff with tension but she fights the urge to slump in her seat and stands up to greet her.

"You're here for Seeley Booth?"

She nods once in reply.

"You're Dr. Temperance Brennan, correct? It says you're listed here as his emergency contact?"

Another nod before she couldn't help it any longer.

"How is he Doctor…?"

A small, comforting smile greets her and Temperance almost buckles at the knees. Surely this doctor would not dare give her a smile and deliver her partner's word of demise, would she?

"I'm sorry I failed to introduce myself immediately, Dr. Brennan." A hand is held out to her, but she nearly fails to respond upon hearing the name from the woman in front of her.

"I'm Dr. Scully. Dr. Dana Scully."

* * *

_Well, I hope that wasn't too bad. The second one ought to be trickier but here's to wishing I don't muck up too badly._

_I've been looking for a crossover such as this for so long now. However, I tend to fear that I may never do Mulder and Scully's character enough justice that is what prevented me from even daring to write one. Until now. Like I mentioned earlier on, from the moment Seeley Booth uttered "_We're Scully and Mulder…" _the idea for this story was born and it hadn't left me since. Ergo, prompting me to write it down if not to simply ask the muse to leave me be!!_

_Of course, probably seeing the second movie (for the umpteenth time) might have something to do with finally posting this. I can't promise that this would deal with the case as seriously as with the characters and their interconnections. I would, however, do my best to try and stay as close to facts as possible._


End file.
